


Remnants of a Friend

by VenomQuill



Series: Stickmin Collection fics [1]
Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: After Infiltrating the Airship, Gen, Rapidly Promoted Executive ending, Reference to gore probably, burn scars and cybernetics, toppat clan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26304055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenomQuill/pseuds/VenomQuill
Summary: Henry Stickmin was now the Chief; he controlled the airship division of the Toppat Clan. But it was not without consequence. Thought it was only one person who had been so grievously injured, two people resided within a hospital.
Series: Stickmin Collection fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983670
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	Remnants of a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Find it on dA: "[Remnants of a Friend](http://fav.me/de4lq53)"

_Beep… beep… beep…_

The quiet, monotone trill continued at a steady pace, unrelenting and unchanging in volume or tempo. The whirring of machines large and small were drowned by the insistent noise not unlike the distance engine of the airship becoming quiet beneath the clicking of keys on a keyboard and quiet beeps of active technology. He hadn’t the heard the whistling of the airship’s blades or its growling engine in a few days, not since they were dropped off. Now, three days later, he was still twitchy and… perhaps a little nervous.

Reginald was used to the air, being chief of the airship division. Like a sea captain was bound to the rough waves splashing at the hull of his ship, he was used to the whistling winds and occasional jolt of the airship steering to avoid a flock of squawking, stupid ducks that never seemed to make way.

But he must stop thinking on that. He was bound to the Earth for as long as it took. According the doctors fiercely loyal to the Clan–aided by the Clan’s “financial assistance”–it would not take much longer. Well, not much longer for him to wake. Reginald needed to be there when _he_ woke. After all, _he_ was Reginald’s right hand, and where would he be if he left him behind?

He looked from the machinery decorating the north end of the room to its focus. Bandages that had cocooned his body in beige and ugly maroon were gone, for the most part. In its stead was the shine of gray metal, smooth and curved in some places, flat or rough with bolts in others. Cracks too straight and symmetrical to be unintentional ringed the legs and chest and spine. If he concentrated, he could just see a sputtering light, the electric lights bound to the wires and mechanisms that couldn’t quite decide between functioning and hibernating. It would make sense for them to be “asleep,” but he had rarely encountered machinery that “slept.” Though, he had never encountered cybernetics, at least of this extent.

Reginald’s gaze slipped from the metal that clad his right hand’s body to his face. Half of it was encased in metal and bolted to his skull, an ugly process he had been reluctantly told. His ginger mustache, long and unmatched by a beard, whisked over his face, over flesh and metal alike. A wide red screen around the size of an eye stared blankly ahead. The screen was dull, a dark red that gleamed in the light. He could faintly see the patterns of bulbs and crosses where some parts would light up and others would dim. He was rather surprised to find himself both repulsed and intrigued. What would happen when he woke? Would it flicker on and mimic the pupils and eye of his friend, or would it take to a specific pattern like the numbers of a clock or the simplistic pictures of a watch-tablet hybrid?

The eye of his friend.

Reginald first knew him as a fellow Clan member, a strong and weapon savvy man that quickly rose through the ranks, not unlike Reginald. Though Reginald took to deceit and planning and quite quickly adopted leading roles before his time, he saw some of himself in the man. They were both incredibly loyal to the Clan; it was their home and their family. However, Reginald had found himself seeking more. His acute sense of direction, ability to weasel a defeat from even the biggest matches of will, his shrewd negotiations, and his natural leadership skills served him well. Sure, his friend shared many of these qualities, but he was loyal to a fault; he couldn’t undermine leadership like Reginald, he couldn’t forsake honor in secret but cling to it when it mattered. Thus, when Reginald took his rightful place as Chief, his friend was his Right Hand Man, a criminal that would follow him through times of tribulation and prosperity, a guard that would fight tooth and nail to see any threat neutralized–by any means necessary.

Reginald narrowed his eyes into a glare at the red, circular screen that sunk into the place where his right eye had once been. His first defeat was nearly his death. He would never let that subject of chance and luck chase Reginald to his doom, not while he still breathed. Not until he was torn apart and burned under the weight of bottle rockets on a mission. The cruel irony was enough to make Reginald’s blood boil. Reginald knew defeat when it grabbed the jewelry around his neck and throttled him with it, after all. In his resignation, he tossed his pride and position as chief to the one nearly responsible for his Clan’s downfall. The one responsible for the near death of his friend. The one who took everything from him and smirked as Reginald himself relinquished his second top hat and the jewelry around his neck to set atop the man’s head. Thomas Chestershire had suffered a concussion and both he and Oldmin escaped with a few cuts and bruises during Henry’s _grand entrance_ , but no one else was caught in his ire.

There were a few things he could do, of course. He clung to honor, even if his honor was not what was most important to him when it came to the last leader of the Toppat Clan. Though, due to Terrence’s poor leadership and recklessness, it honestly wasn’t that difficult, and did not require underhanded techniques. Not with Reginald’s popularity and quick thinking and Terrence’s lack of love within the Clan. Now, instead of gaining the love and popularity of the Clan and earning his place through years of hard work and dedication, Henry stood above him within a half hour of setting foot on the ship, forcing Reginald to become his _number two man_. Of course, to the victor goes the spoils and Henry beat him and Right Hand Man. Still, Henry did not deserve his position. Henry knew this, and there was always that look in the man’s eyes every time he even glanced at Reginald, as if expecting the man to stoop to Henry’s level and shoot the usurper at any opportunity. But Reginald had more honor and dignity than a simple brute. He–

_Beep-beep-beep, beep-beep… beep…_

Reginald jolted and his gaze snapped up to focus on Right Hand Man. He twitched in his induced slumber, the burned flesh along his arm and twirling over his fingers like some grotesque stain contorted from the simple action. _Could_ he wake? Heavy drugs flowed through the man’s veins–what remained of them, of course. Robotics experts and nurses had flitted in and out of the room, tampering with the cybernetics that claimed and supported him or checked the state of what was left of his original body. But the beeping had gone back to normal and he was again still as death. The wheeze of air through one functioning lung and one supported one slipped through his altered throat. His voice would change, though how much or to what Reginald did not yet know.

A thought flitted through Reginald’s mind, one that he had not claimed for years now. What was Right Hand Man’s name? The given name his unknown parents gave to him and previous acquaintances and family had called him. Reginald had not thought upon this curiosity for some time, not since he came to understand and respect the man. Reginald did not necessarily keep himself up with the thoughts of his previous family, his previous life, but he kept his name. The Clan did not care for names or histories. If one had the heart and soul of a criminal, of a man or woman willing to protect and further the Clan and everything it stood for, and had the skills to _actually_ enhance the Toppat Clan, it didn’t matter what they were called before. But now, as the man lay still on the stark white bed connected to medical equipment by threads like a drunken spider’s web, the possibility of requiring a name to–

No. No, that was unnecessary. Any day, perhaps any hour, Right Hand Man would awake. His burns would fade, though perhaps the scars might stay, and he would wobble like a fawn until he was used to his new body. Reginald would be there to help him, just as he was there to help Reginald. This was not a foe either could fight through strength or sharpness of mind, but an antagonistic force the injured man would have to overcome through will and spirit. Reginald was ready and willing to give anything he could. The Clan was rich and well connected, holding the best technology the world had to offer. Most of it belonged to weapon or stealth, but even whatever medical technology they lacked their contacts knew.

There were many crimes Henry had committed, not the least of which was taking Reginald’s place. But such a thing could be respected, perhaps not forgiven, but respected. Henry was clever and skilled like any great Clan member. But the defeat of Reginald’s best friend was something Reginald would _never_ forget. Something neither would. His retribution will be at hand one day, but not today. Today, Reginald was still and quiet, for the first time in years not focused on the Clan.

_Beep-beep, beep… beep… beep-beep…_

“…Reg…?”

**Author's Note:**

> Right-Hand Man and Charles are my favorite characters in the series. RHM's loyalty and clever mind are admirable, and traits I highly respect in a person--fictional or non. It's also why I like Charles so much, he's a good friend and very loyal. Both Charles and RHM would follow their friend to death if need be.  
> I'm really happy with the Bios, by the way. Everyone from important characters like Reginald Coppterbottom (Chief of the Toppat Clan) to minor or background ones like Thomas Chestersire (Toppat member with a black top hat and two monocles for twice the class) and Oldmin (gray-haired with a black top hat, called such because of his hair) have names and histories. Right Hand Man doesn't have a "real name," but that's just part of his background and it's really cool.  
> Oh, and this started out as a drawing, but since I suck at drawing, I wrote a short fanfiction instead. Yay! I found a reason to write a Henry Stickmin fanfic!


End file.
